


No Thinking For A Little While.

by kittenstanley



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome, eventual polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenstanley/pseuds/kittenstanley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts with a crooked sign and a poorly planned movie night. </p>
<p>Spoilers post 1x13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Thinking For A Little While.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so it's been a Very Long Time since I've actually written and published a fic. But, the OT3 was SEVERELY lacking in work. Feel free to comment/give criticism. It's kind of messy, but yeah. This is purely for fun. Etc, etc. Title taken from Fake Empire by The National.

The sign is crooked.  
  
Normally Karen wouldn't notice. The sign has become such a constant in her life that she barely pays any mind to it. But, today, she's decided to admire it. To bask in how  _happy_ these boys make her. There's no one she loves more than her boys.  _Her_ boys. It sounds right in her head, yet odd on her tongue. But it's true. She knows it is. She loves them.  
  
Which is why she's so concerned about this damn sign.  
  
She click-clacks over in her little businesswoman shoes, further inspecting the damage. It looks like someone hit the edge with something small but _hard_. An act of petty vandalism. Or, maybe just drunken idiocy. Anyone who hadn't seen it before wouldn't notice. But since this is her home; her sign, she does.  
  
Thus begins her morning journey up the steps and into their office. She tries to ignore the sign as she makes her way up; tries to forget the damage done. Karen is one to obsess. She knows this. The boys know this. So she focuses her thoughts elsewhere.  
  
The fading image Wesley's expressionless face flashes in the back of her mind. She has to stop to catch her breath.  
  
Karen never wanted to be a lawyer growing up. She didn't necessarily want to be a secretary either -- nor a survivor. Definitely not a murderer. This is something she lives with every damn day. She can pretend. She can fake it. But it's never going to go away.  
  
She's forgotten about the sign by the time she reaches the top.  
  
  
  
She finds herself staring at Matt sometimes. Not because she's attracted to him -- well, she _is_ , but that's not it. It's because she's worried about him. He's not the kind to put his heart on his sleeve, but after what she's seen -- how he's been hanging on by a thread -- she feels the need to pay closer attention. Besides, it's a good distraction.   
  
Nothing lasts forever. One day she won't have this. One day she'll probably have concrete walls and a paper-thin bed. So she enjoys this. She takes as much in as she can.  
  
Foggy enters late, carrying a nondescript take-out bag.  
  
"I come bearing breakfast burritos!" he says triumphantly, raising the bag into the air. She can't help but smile.  
  
"Foggy to the rescue." Matt nods, fingers running over his translation device. He cracks a smile and it's suddenly too much. Like looking at the goddamn sun. Karen has to look away, directing her attention to Foggy instead. That's not any better. Foggy's smile causes her heart to flutter like a teenager.   
  
"Thank you." Cue her bright grin. She means it, even if it is a bit strained. Her stomach rumbles as he brings the bag over and she realizes she's been hungry this entire time. "I'm _starving_."  
  
So they sit around the table and eat breakfast like a family. She wants this moment to last forever: the way the sunlight streams through the window and paints them all in golden light, like halos above their heads. They may as well be the angels of Hell's Kitchen. 

Foggy finds a way to tell the butcher story yet again. Matt cracks another smile or two. She jokes and retorts and supports but in the end, she doesn’t offer much of her own information. She doesn’t tell any past stories – no specific ones, at least. She doesn’t have the bond the two of them have. And, while what they all have is different, Karen knows it isn’t the same. She isn’t the glue. She isn’t what keeps them together.

She’s what makes them better. 

She’s not the best when it comes to her past. She moved for a reason. She’ll listen to Matt and Foggy talk about college for hours, but she just can’t get farther than New York. Neither of them have called her out on it yet. Maybe, just maybe, she can live like this. She can move on from her past with the two of them here. 

“You up for it?” Foggy says, mouth full of burrito, before Karen notices it’s directed towards her. Shit. She fumbles for a moment. 

“Sorry, up for what?” Blue eyes widen as she speaks, a breathless chuckle following. Of course, the moment she resolves to savor this she gets lost in her own head. 

“Movie night.” Matt supplies, pulling at the front of his suit. 

“I… Yeah. Of course.” She grins, brows furrowing. “How, uh – can I ask how that works?” A simple gesture towards Matt. She feels like an asshole. 

“I like listening.” He doesn’t seem fazed by it. 

“Plus,” Foggy adds. “He always knows when the girl is hot.” 

“I _do_ not.” Matt argues, before sighing in defeat. “All right. But to be fair, there was one time.”

“It was Rachel McAdams. That’s the only time I think I’ve ever seen Matt in love.”

“I wasn’t in love—“ 

“Wait.” She leans forwards on the table. “The girl from The Notebook?” 

Foggy blanches. Matt tries not to laugh. She can see it on their faces, the way they both feel about the subjects. 

“It was not The Notebook.” Matt says. Lies, maybe. She can never tell when it comes to little things like this. 

“Do not shit on The Notebook, Matthew.” Foggy says. “That was a romantic masterpiece and you know it.” 

“I wasn’t shitting on The Notebook! I’m just saying, it was something different.” 

“I happen to like The Notebook.” She says, punctuating the sentence with another bite of her breakfast. Matt shuts his mouth, smiling softly in response.

“You see! K here has great taste. Maybe we should let her pick the movie.” Foggy points to her with his pencil, offering one of those little smirks of his. Her face flushes slightly.

“I still don’t like K.” She points out. “And besides, I’m really not that good with movies – really, one of you should pick.”

“I don’t think I’ll make the best choice.” Matt offers. He has a point.

“And last time I picked, it _was_ The Notebook, _so._ ” 

It’s down to her. She doesn’t want to disappoint them – but then again, they’ll still love her if she chooses the wrong film, won’t they? Has it reached the point of unconditional yet? Or are they sitting here, just sort-of loving each other? Karen was never one for just sort-ofs, just maybes. She likes final decisions, definite answers. 

Her love for them? Definite. Impossible to erase. They’re hers. They’re her home. 

“Uh, alright.” She laughs softly and nods, thinking the offer over again. “I always really liked The Graduate.” 

“Mrs. Robinson it is!” Foggy exclaims. “Good choice, K.”

She doesn’t argue this time.

…

Movie night. Why the hell did he agree to movie night?

Matt finds it difficult to sit through a full movie. The voices are calming and interesting, of course, but he needs to be in the right company. Needs to have the right kind of support. He prefers listening to the news. Or a book. Or maybe an old radio show. 

You can’t hear heartbeats through a television screen. 

It's all noise and wires.

You can’t anticipate the next move.

Well, depending on how bad the writing is. He supposes that makes things different. He likes knowing what’s coming sometimes. He can control that with films. He’ll read the synopsis out on Wikipedia and pretend to be surprised once the big twist happens. Needless to say, watching Fight Club with Foggy was an experience. 

It’s that ability to know that gives him comfort. It’s that idea of control. He needs it in small doses, just to keep him on track. He would never take it to the level that Fisk does – did. 

He pushes the thought from his mind. Fisk is gone. Fisk is over. 

He doesn’t have a television in his house, but it seems that his couch is the most comfortable. Or, that his house is the cleanest. He doesn’t see why it matters. It’s not like he’s going to be bothered by a mess. 

He knows why they don’t want to go to Karen’s. There are too many bad memories. She can hardly sleep there, herself. How could they relax for the length of a film? And Foggy’s – well, Foggy isn’t the neatest of people. Matt doesn’t need sight to know that. Hell, even without heightened senses he could tell. Not to mention, the amount of weed Foggy smoked back in college – 

But that’s another story. 

He tidies up to the best of his ability later that evening. There isn’t much to do. Just move some stray pieces around from his various fights. Foggy won’t care, but Karen might, and he can’t let her know. She’s too good for that. 

Karen may get caught up in things, but she’s filled with goodness. She even lies with pure intentions. Matt can’t say anything against that.

Foggy arrives early with a few beers and his computer. Karen is bringing the movie in later, saying she had something to take care of beforehand. Matt worries about her.  

Foggy wraps an arm around Matt’s shoulders and it feels like home.

“So, do your freaky powers work for movies, too?” He asks, as he inevitably would have. He untangles himself from Matt and Matt laughs.

“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re still going to have to narrate.” 

“Damn it. I was hoping to get out of that one.” He huffs. He’s kidding. Matt knows that. 

They sit like that for a few moments, sipping their beers and enjoying the closeness. It’s nice, after all they’ve been through. They need each other. Matt might not admit it, but Foggy is one of the best things in his life. Always was; always will be.

Karen arrives twenty minutes later. He can smell her perfume before she’s even at the door. He smiles to himself, enjoying that she’s arrived. He stands before she even knocks. Foggy lets out a soft noise of discontent, possibly teasing, possibly genuine. Maybe a bit of both. Matt doesn’t know. 

He opens the door after the first knock.  
  
"Hey." He can tell she's smiling by the way her voice strains upwards. "I'm sorry I'm late."  
  
"You're fine." He says, moving for her to enter. "We weren't doing anything too important."  
  
"Just plotting your demise," Foggy says from his spot on the couch. "No biggie."  
  
"Very funny." She retorts, stepping into the room. "So, I couldn't find a copy with the, uh, descriptive track? Is that okay?"  
  
"No problem." Matt answers. "Foggy likes to narrate, anyways."  
  
"It's true. They should really hire me." Foggy pats the empty seat on the couch -- the one _not_ previously occupied by matt, that is -- and motions for Karen to join him. He listens to Karen grab a beer and fill the empty seat.  
  
He stands for a moment, simply listening to their heartbeats. He takes note of the differences between them, the scent of Karen's perfume and Foggy's aftershave. The way Foggy's heartbeats sound just a bit heavier than Karen's. When Karen laughs she laughs from her head, a light and airy sound. Foggy laughs from his gut. He loves both sounds in turn.  
  
He loves both of them.

Shit.  
  
The thought feels like a punch to the gut.  
  
His smile falters slightly and a lump forms in his throat. His skin feels hot. His heart races. He's good at hiding it, but not good enough.  
  
He unbuttons his shirt by one and sits in between them.  
  
It's going to be a long night.  
  
…  
  
Matt's shoulder is pressed to his. Karen's legs are stretched out across both of their laps. Foggy could not be happier. He loves this shit: the closeness, the comfort. Not to mention the movie. Goddamn it, he loves this movie. And there's nothing more fun than describing a young Dustin Hoffman to Matt Murdock.  
  
"Kinda big nosed -- " He says.  
  
"Really big nosed." Karen corrects him.  
  
"Right. Big nose. Kind of rough looking skin."  
  
"Actually, that just might be the DVD -- "  
  
"Alright, alright." Matt interjects, a friendly smile on his face. Foggy loves that smile. God, what a nerd. "I can take it from here."  
  
Things get a little more complicated when they get to Mrs. Robinson.  
  
"Babe. Mega babe. Like so hot." Foggy says. "So, _so_ hot."  
  
"Yeah." Karen agrees shamelessly.  
  
The movie continues and sometimes Karen whispers into Matt's ear and Matt laughs. Sometimes Foggy does the same, with nothing really to tell. Just enough that they're even.  
  
Matt was his first. But, then again, Karen is kind of his too. It's weird. These two gorgeous specimens, wanting to be close to him, wanting to spend time with him. If he's a 6, they're 35s. 50s, even. He can't even look at them sometimes. It's too much. If Matt weren’t blind, Foggy wouldn’t even have a chance.

Karen? He's beginning to think she was a fluke. A lucky break. It’s only a plus that she’s so _goddamn_ cool. He hasn’t met anyone that cool in awhile. Not since Matt. And neither of them are that in-your-face kind of cool. They’re that kind of cool that comes from the heart. A true, deep down and genuine kind of coolness. The kind of cool Foggy has always wanted to possess. 

His coolness can feel fake or forced. It doesn’t come from his heart. His kindness does, sure, but not his coolness. And coolness is what matters here.

Fuck. Who is he kidding? He'd live in nerd shame for the rest of his life if he could live in nerd shame with  _them._  

Karen sings along to the soundtrack and suddenly Foggy feels like he’s floating. It gets worse when Matt joins in – Matt doesn’t have the best singing voice, per se, but it doesn’t make it any less attractive. Foggy has no choice but to sing along as well. So here they are, the three of them singing along to some good ol’ Simon & Garfunkel. 

Foggy hits one wrong note and suddenly they’re dissolving into laughter. They’re falling all over each other and things that weren’t funny before are suddenly gut-busting and jaw-dropping. There are empty beers at their feet. The screen shows a car driving through miles and miles of highway. Everything is as it should be.

Karen’s face lands in the crook and Matt’s neck, seeing as she’s been partially sitting in his lap for the majority of the night. Everything quiets down, but he doesn’t mind. They’re all together. What could be better than that? 

There are rips in her stockings. Foggy traces them with the tips of his fingers, counting each frayed thread. They don’t talk. They don’t watch, either. They stay tangled up in each other, like they should be. This is _nirvana._ This is _transcendence_. This is fucking _perfect._

Until Karen pulls away from Matt just enough that her face is inches from his. And Foggy thinks, nah, she won’t do it. She won’t cross that line. She won’t push it. 

And she doesn’t. 

Matt does. 

There’s a moment where everything goes silent. The only sounds in the room are Dustin Hoffman proclaiming his love, and the three of them breathing in anticipation. Matt leans in. Karen leans in. 

You can guess what happens next. 

It starts tender, kind – focused. He puts his heart into kissing her, as he does with everything. She kisses back in equal measure. Foggy feels like he’s watching the goddamned Notebook all over again. 

Then the kiss turns hungry. It’s like they’re trying to eat each other. But, like, in a hot way. He feels weird touching her now. It’s like Matt’s marked her. It’s not helping that he’s all flushed from watching. 

It’s like his brain says: _Yes, this is totally fine. This totally makes sense. I totally saw this coming._ But his mouth says:

“What the fuck?” 

Matt disconnects from Karen and Foggy feels the world crashing down around him. Karen whispers something in Matt’s ear and he just nods. Nods! What the fuck? That’s not what you do after kissing one of the best human beings in the world. He just totally fucked that up for Matt. His best friend! Things were going to be so weird around the office after this. God, why did he have to do this to women? _With_ women, actually – 

Matt’s lips connect with his.

Somehow _What the fuck_ turns into _Holy fuck_ and eventually _Fuck yes._ His hand curls around the back of Matt’s neck and suddenly everything makes sense. 

“Wait—“ Foggy pulls back, like an idiot. “I thought you didn’t want me to kiss you?” A smile pulls at his lips. His cheeks burn and he curses every ounce of white, pale, Irish blood in him. 

“Maybe I lied.” He says, kissing just above Foggy’s lips. It’s a peck; nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it means the world. God, Foggy loves him. 

Shit. He loves him. 

Karen climbs over Matt’s lap and kisses him before he can think any further. 

… 

Sex is different for Matt. He can’t see his partner’s faces, no, but he can hear and taste and _feel_ so much more. It can either be overwhelming or incredible. Sometimes he has to stop in the middle of it -- take a moment to breathe, to calm himself down. This happens while he's sandwiched between Karen and Foggy. He's naked, for the most part, and he's been writhing against and kissing and groping his friends for the last ten minutes. Jesus, he's only made it ten minutes. But then there's a hand on him (Karen's, by the shape and angle of it) and he shoots up straight.  
  
Karen quickly moves her hand. Foggy nearly falls off the damn bed. Their heartbeats pick up and Matt feels so awful that he can't tune it out, can't enjoy this like he was meant to.  
  
"What's wrong?" Karen asks. Both of them have backed away from him. Not out of fear, but out of concern. If he didn't want to be touched then, how should he be touched now?  
  
"No, I just -- " He chuckles to himself, trying to shake off the embarrassment. "I think I just need a minute."  
  
He lays back. The three of them cram into the space of his double bed. It takes some adjusting. It helps that Karen doesn't take up much space.  
  
"Should we be doing this?" Foggy asks.  
  
"Yes." Matt answers, without any kind of hesitation.  
  
They wait in silence for a moment, all processing this, before Karen pipes up.  
  
"I think our sign is crooked."  
  
Foggy props himself up on his elbow and shifts to face her. "How?"  
  
"I think someone hit it." She says. "Maybe I'm seeing things. It just -- felt wrong."  
  
"Maybe we should fix it." Matt says. He isn't talking about the sign.  
  
"Maybe we should." Karen nods.  
  
Slowly, she takes Matt's hand. Matt takes Foggy's in return. The three of them fall asleep like this.  
  
  
  
Matt wakes to the sound of Karen having a nightmare around three in the morning. It does nothing to rouse Foggy. He sleeps like the dead. Karen, on the other hand, tosses and turns and twitches. He can't blame her. Not after everything that’s happened to them. 

He can tell she’s sweating. He can hear her heart racing. He turns to face her, hand slowly coming up to move the hair from her face. He goes further, caressing her cheek and trying the best he can to calm her down. It doesn’t help. It still feels like she’s in pain. 

He places tender kisses to her exposed skin, nudging Foggy awake in the process. Foggy groans, muttering something about how _damn early it is_. That’s when Karen finally wakes up, a soft cry spilling from her lips. 

Foggy shoots straight up, sounding more concerned than annoyed. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah – Yeah, I just -- ” Karen stammers, trying to catch her breath. Matt shuts her up with a soft kiss as he pulls her onto his chest. He maneuvers them so she’s in the middle of it all.

They finish what they started.

 

…

 

Karen’s a morning person. It’s an awful, awful fact. She’s the kind to just start moving and get going the moment she wakes up. It seems like Matt and Foggy operate a little differently. 

Matt looks like he hasn’t a good night’s sleep in months. Now? God, he looks so peaceful. Like a goddamned puppy. He’s got that little pout to his lips, might as well be one. She wouldn’t wake him up, even if she had to. He needs this.

Foggy, on the other hand, looks like he could sleep through an earthquake. He snores. She didn’t peg him for a snorer, but here we are. It’s not that kind of snoring that wakes up the whole building, no. It’s the soft kind. The only annoying if you’re _really_ listening kind. Karen finds it kind of cute, actually.

So, she does her best to slip out of bed without waking either of them. It’s not exactly easy, but she’s done harder. She picks up one of Matt’s t-shirts and pulls it over her head. The faint memory of her first night in Matt’s apartment hits her in a way she never thought it would.

She was so scared. 

Now? She’s never felt more safe in her entire life. 

She makes her way to the kitchen and prepares them a not-so-virtuous breakfast. 

Matt’s the first one to wake up. She can’t say she’s surprised. He seems to have a routine in place.  
  
The last twelve hours are probably the longest she's seen him without his glasses. He has the habit of putting them on when she's around. Hell, when anyone but Foggy is around. She wonders if he's self-conscious. Or maybe he's scared. She's never really thought about it like that.  
  
It wasn't until after he kissed her last night that he even took them off.  
  
What's he so afraid of?

“I smell pancakes.” He says, shaking her from her thoughts. She smiles to herself. He looks like a walking dream; hair a mess and shirt on slightly crooked. 

“I thought breakfast might be nice.” She shrugs, smile growing wider.

“That’s very kind of you.” He nods, genuine as always. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it and clears his throat, covering it up in his own special Matt-like way. Always so kind. Always so earnest. 

Maybe he’s afraid of something inside of him. Karen’s never considered that before. Foggy said his father was a boxer. Matt doesn’t seem like the kind to want to fight like that. 

Maybe that’s what he’s so scared of: letting his dark side show. Letting any of them down.  

But what does he have to say? What’s so hard to say to her? 

“What?” She asks, preparing plates for the three of them.   

“Do you regret it?” He asks. Something about him falters. “What we did?” 

Karen makes a soft, amused noise and shakes her head. “Would you think I’d have made breakfast if I did?” She walks over and sets his plate in front of him, along with his silverware. She watches as he adjusts to where it all is. It’s not as big of a deal as it used to be; her getting used to how he moves. How he behaves. She’s fascinated by it, for the most part. She doesn’t pity him. At least, she doesn’t think she does. "I'll be right back." 

Her next step is waking Foggy up. He’s slept long enough. She hurries off to Matt’s bedroom, quickly leaping into bed so Foggy’s side is bounced upwards. He wakes with a groan, hand combing his long, unruly hair from his face. Karen crawls forwards on her hands and knees, lips ghosting over his lips, nose nudging his nose. 

“Morning.” He mutters, dorky smile plastered on his face. “Do I smell pancakes?

“Get up.” She pats his chest. “And brush your teeth. I made breakfast.” 

“Where’s Matt?” He stretches his limbs as she climbs off of him, then the bed.

“Already at the table.” She says over her shoulder. “So hurry up.” 

It’s the best breakfast she’s had in a long time.

 

…

 

Work is… uncomfortable. Look, it’s not like Foggy didn’t expect some kind of weirdness. But this? Holy shit. It’s been three days since they all slept together. Matt fumbles over his words. Karen can’t look either of them in the eye. Which, Foggy has to admit, probably doesn’t matter as much to Matt as it does to him. But Matt can probably sense it with his crazy, super senses! Or with his Sexual Rain Man prowess. Foggy doesn’t know anymore.

It all comes to a head at lunch. 

They eat in silence. Shit, they may as well be eating in different states. They’re not even trying to distract themselves. No phones, no books, no nothing. This is where Foggy draws the line.

“We should fix the sign.” He says between bites of rice. It’s not about the sign. 

The room is silent for another moment. Foggy kicks himself for even trying. Hell, he may as well just get up and walk away— 

Matt clears his throat and stands. “We should.” 

Karen breathes a sigh of relief. Foggy grins, looking up to Matt like he hung the damn moon. 

“I think we should establish some ground rules,” He continues. “I mean, if we want this to be a regular thing.”

“You think we can make this work?” Karen asks, a tinge of hopefulness in her voice. But when isn’t Karen hopeful? She’s the most optimistic person Foggy knows. 

“Why not?” Foggy shrugs. “I’m up for it.” 

“Yeah.” Karen nods. “Me too.” 

Matt sits back down and each of them have to try their hardest to hold back their smiles. 

Foggy is the happiest he's ever been.


End file.
